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Faded Blue Jeans And Raspberry Iced Tea
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Faded Blue Jeans And Raspberry Iced Tea |
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Alain DeLaCendres Member
since 1999-07-02
Posts 119Ohio |
I There is a small gas station across the busy street, one of the millions of its kind that are nestled into the many corners of the United States. It is a dull cream color with exhaust tainted green awning. The relentless sun is beating down on my black sneakers, cooking my feet inside like Thanksgiving turkeys and igniting my throat with thirst. About two dollars in change, mostly quarters, teases my lonely finger tips in my front pockets. My legs ache from my forty-five minutes of aimless wondering on unknown sidewalks and past uninteresting new buildings. I was brought here as a "road companion" to keep my long time friend company on the long ride. The only reason he suckered me into this is because he had said he needed me. Yeah, well he had only needed me until we got here, he was the one who had strongly suggested this walk while he took care of his "business" which I wanted no part of. Technically, I have never told him to his face, but he knows all the same. Now, that gas station seems my only redemption. The glass doors swing smoothly open when I push them, with a quiet "swoosh" from the separation of the rubber strips and a blast of cold air brings on a slight head rush, but it is refreshing all the same. My tired eyes lazily scan the small store from one end to the other...oh my...I'm seeing things! Forget any dictionary definition or popular conception of beauty, this is the real thing. Beautiful is not even an apt word...the English language does not have one. Maybe I can make one up...no, that is not even possible! Delicate elbows rest atop the smooth check out counter, her palm under her chin looking wonderfully bored. Blue eyes stare out at nothing on the dingy floor, thoughts crawling like three-legged turtles across her mind. Lips of silken rose petals neither frown nor smile, they are just there...almost as if they are waiting to be put to use. Naturally wavy, frosted, light brown hair falls about her shoulders like King Arthur on his throne. Legs hidden behind that counter are forming themselves in my mind: long, muscular...perfect. They say it is impolite to stare, but I cannot help it. It is not staring so much as my eyes refuse to leave such a sight, as if they will wither to prunes the second they are forced to look at anything else in this haggard world deprived of such elegance as she possesses. I know if her eyes catch mine I will be frozen. Despite the foolish fears of my eyes shriveling up, I forcefully disengage my orbs and turn in the direction of the cooler; she looks up barely a half second later. I can feel her gaze upon my back taking me in. A stolen glance toward her through the foggy glass door of the cooler reveals that she is still watching me. My damp fingers wrap themselves around a dwarfish sixteen ounce bottle of raspberry iced tea, feeling the little indents of the leaves imprinted on the neck of it. I absently lift it from the rack, ignoring the clink-clank of the next bottles sliding down the rack to take the place of the one I have removed. The perspiration on the glass causes my inattentive fingers to slip down the bottle, forcing me to turn my attention back to it. Switching hands on the bottle so I do not drop it, my free hand gathers the change hiding in my pocket, digging and digging. I look up, our eyes meet... I am swept away. A whirlwind of ecstasy rips the world around me away as if it does not matter, like it was never even there. Her soft blue eyes, the color of faded blue jeans, draw me into them like a black hole leading to heaven. In those eyes I can see the countless burdens left upon her by thankless lovers and the millions of disappointments they had brought to her. But just below the void of her pupils hides a kind heart and an open mind waiting to be found. The want to be the one to find those hidden treasures is immense; I could make the discovery of America look like finding a quarter in an empty storm drain. All this passes through my mind in less than a second. I cannot help but wonder what she is seeing in my tired eyes...is it anywhere near as grand as the things I can see in her now? My mind has abandoned my body, but somehow I start to walk again. Our eyes never leave each others. The seemingly foreign iced tea is bought, but neither of us care, we are too enraptured in each other. The cash drawer loudly pops open and the coins inside slosh forward with the jolt. Her fingers numbly collect a shiny dime and an old grimy penny from the slots. Trembling, her hand makes the journey through the space over the counter to my outstretched, open hand. As those fingers slide into my palm, a spark flies between us. My hand closes over her fingers. They are so warm... II A wintery cold chill lurches slowly up my spine as the "swoosh" of the old rubber strips caused by the gas station’s glass doors closing behind me bleeds into the warm summer air on its way to my ears. My daunted mind has already filed away that foul sound as a reminder of today, and though I shall store that sound in the farthest reaches of the closet in my head I know it will never be far away. I will not be surprised if I wake up in a cold sweat a few nights from now with that sound still slithering in my mind's ear. That synthetic noise represents something: I have once again compromised my heart in light of the needs of someone else. Nothing new there, I have grown terribly used to that feeling...it is cold, pointed, and burning. A paradox in itself, a pain in my heart. Despite the shield that I know exists around my small heart, it still hurts. The shield surrounding my heart is an air-tight, steel-riveted contraption of grief, a hideous object to have living inside of me. Sometimes I have been glad to have that shield, but most times it is nothing but a cumbersome hunk of junk; as for right now, I am not so sure how I feel about it. Small rocks, no larger than the size of peas, crunch beneath my canvas low top sneakers and catch in a few of the grooves on my soles. Many of the rocks scamper across the boiling blacktop in a desperate attempt to escape my unintended onslaught impending upon their world. The unfortunate ones who get caught under my soles emit a depressing crunch, crunch, crunch sound like dying Rice Crispies. Snap, crackle, pop, my heart just got stepped on. Darkness falls over the scampering rocks. It is a shadow, an extension of someone. This lone shadow projects itself under my feet, striking a rather ironic thought. I am stepping on someone else's shadow but yet I am the one who is feeling like I have been stepped on. An insane, screaming idea streaks through my head: turn around and apologize to the owner of the shadow for intruding upon its borders. Before I can stop myself, air rushes into my lungs to fuel the words of my sarcastically honest apology. My heels dig into the loose blacktop and gravel surface and begin to spin to face the creator of the shadow in question. Thump, thump, thump, then my heart skips a beat. It is almost like looking into the sun! Like being blinded by something so divine that my eyes have no right to look upon it! Her face. She has followed me. Here I am, leaving her behind like childhood memory to hopefully fade from my recollection just as quickly. There she is, pursuing me out into the parking lot of this one stop gas station, possibly in the hopes of making me remember her. All of the breath I had so hastily gathered for my apology rushes out in a strangled "swoosh" so unlike that of the rubber strips. A simple cream-colored shirt with the gas station's logo embroidered on the upper left of her chest and the deep green uniform pants that hug her slender hips scream not simplicity or dullness, but beauty. Raw beauty. No make-up or fancy hair style could enhance that natural beauty she has, it is beyond that. In fact, I think it might hinder it a bit. White tennis shoes bring her to a halt when she catches my eyes again. Not a jerking stop, but rather an elegant ceasing of motion. Wind ruffles her hair only the slightest bit, there is not much blowing around today, but there is enough to tease it, giving it an added flare. Her faded blue jean eyes hold my heart in a tight, warm embrace that threatens to buckle my knees in ecstasy. A smile slides onto her lips now, lighting her face up like a bright red rose in a snowy field. The curious eyes of every other by-stander in the parking lot crawls over my flesh, my mind swats them away like harmless ants tyring to invad a picnic. I care not about them, it is her I want. It is me she wants. That feeling of being sucked into her eyes comes to me again and I welcome it...but I have obligations. Of course nothing is ever so easy! As this blasphemous thought finds its way into the forefront, the corners of her mouth start to turn down into the beginnings of a frown. Are my thoughts leaking into her? Can she tell that I am fighting with myself inside of this? Logic says no, but I say yes. She understand, I think. Her eyes say that she knows I am having a war within my mind and she will stand back and wait for the outcome, whatever it may be. Why am I doing this to her? Why even toy with her like this? I want her, dear God do I, but can I have her? I have a "curfew" if you will; I have to be back at the apartment by five o'clock and according to the digital clock spinning by the bank that I saw before I even entered the store, I have less than ten minutes. Matt would leave without me. Rather, Sue will "talk" Matt into leaving me and I will be stuck here to find my own way home...but would that really be so bad? If she is here with me, nothing is so bad. I do not care, Matt can wait; I have a heart to attend to. The world will just have to spin without me for a while. Our feet find the ability to walk again and we come together there, in the middle of the blacktop and loose rock parking lot. With a few short steps we stand toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, and heart-to-heart. I can feel her sweet breath as it slides across my chin and rolls down my throat; the wonderful aroma of her perfume and the enticing smell of her hair brings her beauty alive like a forgotten goddess reclaiming her rightful honors. Our eyes remain locked as our faces drift closer and closer. My arms find their way around her and hers around me, we twine together like ivy. Her eyes slip closed as our lips connect and engulf each other... III I cannot believe that I left her; but I promised her I would be back, and I will. Even if Matthew will not take me back to her, I will find a way to keep my promise. Will I really? As much as I would like to tell myself that I will, I cannot dispel the nagging feeling that something will "come up" and the same old act will play all over again. Matt will talk me out of going back to see her, most likely using a line like "We will come back up in two days, I promise, but right now we have to get home." Yeah, well those two days will pass and time will find me at home without having ever gotten to see her again. Compromising sucks. So why do I keep doing it? Am I just too nice? My feet are making their own way through this city, leaving my mind to wander where it will. Wandering is just what it is doing...the scenery is sliding past as more of a smear than a blur despite the utter slowness of my stride, kind of like those thoughts that were three-legged turtles crawling across her eyes. Singing birds, wind in the trees, cars, mingled voices of the passers-by, all of this is faint in my ears, holding no weight to keep my thoughts on them. The shell of flesh that is me feels the wind on some level, hears the sounds on some level, and sees everything on some level, but I am somewhere above that level wandering through an endless hall somewhere deep inside myself where the walls are covered with so many things that my eyes just have to stop and look at them. Nothing can be passed by, they are so enticing that everything has to be looked at and soon enough I get lost in that hall. There are no windows in that hall, the only light is the light from memories and fantasies that shine brightly. At the moment, there are plenty of memories and fantasies to provide light for the entire world in that hall...but only I can see that light. Tapestries, paintings, pictures, drawings, murals, novels, poems, essays, monographs, and treatises hang upon the walls and act in synergy to create an image of her so clear and real it is no wonder the world around me is forgotten...I could stay here forever. Something bumps my knee and brings me back to reality; it is the ground sign for the apartment complex. A half funny mental image forms of me strolling along and arriving here without knowing it, slamming my knees into that sign and being sent sprawling to the ground on the other side of it, my mouth full of dirt and grass. If I had kept walking, just that would have happened. The town had passed me by and I did not even notice because I was so lost in that hall where the image of her is so clear. Well, she is a much sweeter thought than that dried up, dirty suburb will ever be. My feet carried me to my destination either way. Having the fun part over, I do not want to go up to that apartment where Matt is, but I guess I have to. I compromised myself to get here, so I may as well follow through. Facing Sue is not going to be fun because she was not in the best of moods when I left and if Matt has been messing with her like usual, then she will be ready to rip my head off given the slightest chance. What Matt actually does while he is here I do not know; it is an unspoken agreement between us that he will do what he needs to and I will stand back and not see anything. It is his lie, he can tell it like he wants just so long as we both come out in one piece, and so far he has succeeded in doing so. Every now and again he paints himself into a corner with his lies, but what he does not think of I usually do... partners in crime I suppose, but I prefer to just think of it as being his friend. The paved drive, a half circle, leads to a haggard set of double glass doors. Above the doors looms and expanse a brick and sliding glass doors. Each "door" has its own balcony, and they all look the same - old, shoddy, and ready to fall. A single rail of thin aluminum separates the balcony's cement floors from the open air. These balconies always have scared me a little. Every time I have stepped out onto one, wild thoughts of the balcony finally giving up the ghost and falling, me right along with it, always seem to find their way into the front of my mind, playing there over and over again like an old silent film. These fears are foolish and unfounded, I know, but they are there all the same. Craning my neck up, I take the entire building in. I see nothing that excites me, I actually think I hate this place. The scattered trees do not help the scenery any, they just look like old skeletons standing in a bare expanse of browning grass instead of lending an arboreal look like they are supposed to. Even the leaves of those trees look sick and doomed. Am I the only one who views this place that way? I must be because every apartment is always taken, but people are usually nowhere to be seen. Empty halls and closed doors are all there is to suggest there really are people living here, and I do not find that too convincing. Sometimes screams can be heard behind those closed doors, but I would rather go one wondering than to be made sure by one of those screams. The dirty double glass doors open with that same "swoosh" from the gas station when they give in to the pressure of my hands, filling me with nostalgia though I have only been away from her maybe twenty minutes at the most. A dim light indicating that the elevator is ready is lit up. When I push it, the elevator doors slams open. I step inside and the elevator door does not wait for me, it slams shut fast, loud enough to startle me. Being in this elevator is like being in a tomb because it is so quiet. The echo of the door slam bounces around in here for what seems to be forever. Wanting to get this over with, I thumb the button for the fifth floor. I begin to ascend through the floors with a jerk and a rattle as the elevator groans to life and crawls along the cable while the filthy lights above the door light up in succession with each floor I pass. Number five lights up and the elevator screeches to a clattering halt. That annoying "ding" rings through the air and the elevator door once again slams open, revealing an empty hall. Undecorated false wood doors, the lonely paneling walls, and that thread bare carpet are all lit by dying fluorescent lights overhead. There are no windows in the hall to provide any natural light to assist the unnatural bulbs of those fluorescents in their failing task. Even after having been down this hall countless times before, I still hate it; there is nothing good about it, it seems to suck all the life out of you and whisper to your heart that all is most certainly lost. I reiterate, I hate this hall. My target is the last door clear at the end of the hall to my left. That door is like a magnet to my weary feet as they shuffle toward it. A small yellow scrap of paper hangs on the door like a piece of a banana peel but I cannot read it yet. Will it tell me of how Sue got impatient and "talked" Matt into leaving me behind? The doors blur past me unnoticed, an eager insanity grips me and I sprint the last few yards to the door. My anxious hands snatch the yellow Post-It Note from the door and hold it up for inspection. It is Matthew's handwriting, a blend of childish imperfections and adult carefulness, and of course his flamboyant signature. Sorry, but we had to go somewhere. I was going to leave the door unlocked for you, but Sue wouldn’t let me, bad neighborhood, you know? In any case, we’ll be back before 7:30, I promise. Ok ? -Matt Well, that sure puts a damper on things. It was four fifty-nine by the clock back on that bank, but that was a good bit ago. My guess is it is at least ten after five by now, which gives me about two hours and twenty minutes to do nothing. Sue would not let him leave the door unlocked because the neighborhood is bad? More like she does not trust me in her apartment unsupervised; and I know that is true, I can see it in her eyes sometimes when she does not know I am looking at her. I never have understood why Matthew stays with her or even why he got with her in the first place, but it is not my place to say anything. Matthew is my friend, always has been. We have a sort of unspoken agreement that we keep our negative thoughts about each other to ourselves, avoiding in-depth discussions which might jeopardize our friendship. I know that we do not see eye to eye on everything, and the matter of Sue is just one of the many things we file under “negative thoughts” and sweep under the carpet for another day. That “another day” never comes; we run around it like an ant swirling around when he is stuck in a sink full of water and someone has pulled the drain plug. “Now you won’t see her again. Stop denying it, just accept it and sit down right here in front of the door and take a nap until Matthew and Sue get back. By the time they get back and it is time for you and Matthew to go home, you will have forgotten all about her,” says that pessimist down inside me. It always tries to whisper with a soothing and gentle voice but I can always hear the venom lurking just behind its words. I try to think of an argument against that evil voice, but I cannot find one. My knees become rubber and I slip down against the cold faux wood door. My head thuds against it, my traitorous eyes slips closed, and my mind runs away to Never-Never Land... IV ...swoosh...swoosh...swoosh...swoosh...swoosh...swoosh...swoosh... My head snaps forward and my neck erupts in a kink of protest. Pain streaks down my neck and back from sitting up too fast. Breath comes to my scared lungs in rasps and ragged wheezes and a sheet of icy sweat has coated my flesh from head to toe. It feels as if a tornado has just torn its way across my mind and left nothing behind to salvage. I am painfully aware that I have just awaken from a nightmare (or maybe more aptly: a daymare), but no images remain to give even a hint of what the bad dream had been about. That horrid "swoosh" still slithers around in my mind's ear unwanted, but I cannot make it go away. My wet hands reach up involuntarily to cover my ears, but the sound lingers on. Is there a God? If so, why would he let such a small sound gain such horrible significance in anyone's mind? Yes, I do believe there is a God, but his reasons for things often escape me, like now. Another door swings open and a middle-aged man emerges. He never even looks my way because he is too busy screaming. No doubt about it, he is drunk. A screaming match seems to be going on between him and someone hidden away within the apartment. Their screams make my ears feel as if they are going to burst like a soap bubble, but I am not so stupid as to say anything about it. Less than five feet away they exchange drunken gibberish yells that pass for words between each other. The drunken man must be losing because his stubby fingers vice around the doorknob then slam it shut. An enormous rumble shakes through my whole body, jarring everything inside of me. He drunkenly struggles to regain his balance then stalks off down the hall. Not suprisingly, he has a bottle of Vodka tucked into the right front pocket of his jeans. Light catches the clear liquid inside and scatters like through prism, decorating the paneling wall beside his as his choppy stride carries him away from me. My breath is starting to come easier now, but it are still a bit ragged. I feel like I have just ran a marathon, but all I did was have a bad dream. It was a bad dream about her, though, that automatically classifies it as something worse than a "bad" dream...that puts it in a class all its own. My memory has already let go of the events that transpired in the dream, not even so much as a single tangible mental image remains to give me any kind of hint. The only thing I know is that the dream was about her and me and it was not good. What time is it? How long was I sleeping? Matt said he would be back at seven thirty...how long do have? A better question is: how will I find out what time it is? I refuse to ask any of the tenants of the apartment, I do not trust any of them , as that display between those drunks illustrated quite clearly. I could take a walk back down town to the bank...but what if it is past seven thirty when I get back? Well, Matt will have left me, that is what. My hands are still covering my ears. They drop slowly to rest themselves upon the threadbare brown carpet. Desperation is crawling back in again; this place always seems to do that to me. I have to get outside. The walls almost feel like they are closing in on me, but this is not quiet claustrophobia. Loud pops explode from my knee caps when I stand, pain dribbling down my shins. Stretching my back releases another strain of crackles and relieving pain. At the other end of the hall, another door slams open and more screaming follows; another drunken argument I presume. It does not matter, really, just so long as I can get outside without being thrown into he middle of it. Last thing I want is someone else's problems on my shoulders...God knows I have enough of my own for the time being. Tingling, sleepy toes carry my feet towards the elevator thirty feet away. I can see the lights indicating what floor the elevator is currently on raising from one, to two, to three, to four...and by the time the little light hits five, I am standing in front of the door waiting for it to open. "Ding" goes the elevator, and it slams open. None other but the screaming drunk man himself is standing before me, coated in dim elevator light which turns his already sickly skin into an almost transparent sheet of paper stretched across tired sinews and rusty bones. Red eyes stare through a haze of alcohol at me with almost no whites left in those eyes. Lava and anger boils in those irises, rage leaking from the man's very pores. I step quickly out of his path and pray that he will just walk past me again without injury. His shiny bottle of Vodka is now clasped in his chubby fingers, almost empty, the reek the eighty proof poison permeates the stale air and gags my throat shut. Lumbering forward like a walking dead man, he crumbles and his face thuds to the floor. Though I know if this man was not drunk I would gladly help him up, for now is out of luck. After giving him a second or two to get up, I step over him and into the elevator hoping to be long gone before consciousness comes back to his fuzzy head. Anxious to be gone, my thumb finds the button for the first floor and does not hesitate to press it. Again, the door slams closed and seconds later the elevator jerks into a downward motion. Four, three, two, and finally one lights up, the door "dings" open, and I am free to go. Dingy glass is the only thing separating me from the outside. That "swoosh" sounds pricks my ears once more when the glass door gives in to my hands and swing open but I let the faint wind carry it away like a dead leaf in autumn. The city stretches before me, offering myriad pleasures and treasures, but I do not want any of them. I want only her. The sun is still hanging overhead though looking a bit drunken. It is hanging a little low, ready to retire for the day but knowing that it is obligated to serving a few more hours yet. That resilient sun will put in its time, then fall away behind the sky scrapers and the far away country hills not to be seen until morning. Sky scrapers are a good distance off, but such titanic structures that I can see them clearly from here...but I am not sure how far away I am...I doubt it is more than two miles or so. Yet within that two miles or so hides a small, one stop gas station in which a beautiful woman is standing behind the check out counter holding my heart in her teeth. I can think of no better place for it. Screeching tires to my left shatter my reverie, replacing it with crashing reality. Those screeching tires can mean only one thing: Sue let Matt drive. My suspicions are confirmed when I turn my head to look at the parking lot and see Sue's purplish nineteen ninety-seven Chevy Cavalier with Matt climbing from the driver's side, a huge grin of satisfaction plastered across his entire face. Sue pops up from the passenger side, and although I cannot quite make out what she is saying, I know she is yelling at Matt about "driving like and idiot" as she calls it. Matt prefers to think of it as "creative maneuverability" but that excuse never flies with Sue. Sometimes I think Matt does it just to see if she will yell, yet knowing that she will at the same time. It is a bit of a thrill for him I suppose, kind of like defying an authority figure. That same smirk is always on his lips when she yells at him about it because he knows it makes her even madder. I honestly do not think he cares, he probably relishes it. Why they are together will always be beyond my grasp of understanding, as it has been for the past year and a half. Far be it from me to spoil Matt's fun though, so once again I will keep my mouth closed on the subject. Matt looks up and sees me. Sue is forgotten in Matt's mind, still yelling, for now I am his target. That smirk has widened to cover his face from ear to ear showing all of his pearly whites. Behind him Sue's mouth snaps shut and her cheeks flush a deep blood red as she notices that Matt is not listening anymore, but then I do not think he was ever listening to her in the first place...again, I will keep my mouth closed on the subject. He breaks into a jog heading straight for me; Sue is still standing by her car sending me the evil eye and I am not surprised at all. She will stand over there as far away from me for as long as she can, and that is fine by me; but I think she is a little madder than usual today and I even think she might be a problem... ------------------ Tout s'en va, tout passe, l'eau coule, et le couer oublie. |
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| © Copyright 1999 Alain DeLaCendres - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Lucie Senior Member
since 1999-06-20
Posts 1077Houston |
I really enjoyed the read on this. Your imagery was wonderful, it pulled me into the story and right along with you. Excellent!! |
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Pepper Member Elite
since 1999-08-19
Posts 3079Southern Florida |
The title drew me in and the story kept me captive....wonderful work Alain...really enjoyed this read!! ------------------ A soul that writes from the heart and shares it, truly gives a gift extrordinaire! |
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Watcher666 Senior Member
since 1999-10-13
Posts 1606 |
This is fabulous.Enjoyed this much!! ------------------ Illusion...what we see and what we do...it's all up to you. |
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Alain DeLaCendres Member
since 1999-07-02
Posts 119Ohio |
Merci beaucoup mes amis. ------------------ Tout s'en va, tout passe, l'eau coule, et le couer oublie. |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Clapping very loudly from behind my screen! |
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